Priceless
by G.M.Portraepic
Summary: 1735: Niklaus Mikaelson – a procurer of hard-to-find objects, is tasked with kidnapping the daughter of nobleman William Forbes, and delivering her to a ruthless pirate captain in the West Indies. Risking a harrowing, unthinkable consequence for his failure – Klaus is inevitably drawn in by his hostage and the mystery that surrounds her. AU/AH. Klaroline.
1. Prologue

**This is the next big project, now that _Ubiquitous_ is drawing to a close (and the sequel won't be for a little while). Loosely inspired by POTC, Black Sails – but not strictly a Pirate AU. Have at it, loves!**

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the Vampire Diaries, The Originals nor any of its names/characters/places previously established. They belong to WB Television, The CW, respective creative minds. The rest belongs to, and is copyrighted to me. I write for my own pleasure and enjoyment, not for monetary gain – G.M. Portraepic ©, 2014.

* * *

**PRICELESS**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

She'd believed, once.

Not in stories, but in _goodness_.

Growing up in a world corrupt with piracy, bloodshed and fear had taught her to abandon such hopes. 'Hope' wasn't enduring; it was a weakness in the bold world she existed within. As a child, prior to sailing out to the Caribbean, she'd intuited that _good _people were rewarded, and delivered from evil.

But the world – the _real _world was a far harsher place than her sheltered life had led on.

_Survival_ depended on wit, intuition and a strong character.

Not _goodness; _no one possessed the trait anymore – not even she; the jewel of her parents; a true beauty of the Indies, sought after by any respectable (_and wanted by any non-respectable_) man. She could not have anticipated what providence thrust upon her – and even _she _could not have foreseen how the absolute extreme would determine her response to that harsh world.

No longer was she the naive, porcelain doll. No longer was she trusting and courteous girl of rank. It had forever changed her; she was hard and damaged – the fiery, clever young woman she'd grown into, was a far cry from the girl she'd once been. Her own moral compass no longer pointed due north; the ruthlessness and astuteness she'd adopted made her own reflection unrecognisable.

'_Goodness_' allowed for absolution – and she'd lost hers. She'd accepted that it could not be reclaimed; that she was forever corrupt; that she was damned; that there was no hope for her.

But as he arched against her body, lips grazing her ear with caressing whispers of passion and love – as he drew back, pressing his palm against her mouth to stifle her cry, she'd stared into the blue intensity of her captor's gaze, and somehow...she'd _seen _it; in _him_.

In a tortured soul.


	2. I

**A/N: **_This story is set at the end of the Golden Age of Piracy (so, chronologically after Black Sails and before POTC). Similar to POTC, not everything will be historically correct; that's not what I want this to be about (though I will do my best to get things right). __**It will, however **__**be more on the Black Sails side in terms of content; you've been warned.**_

**Nothing to forewarn in this chapter – but there will obviously be the odd dash of profanity; hence, this story is rated M (but mainly because of vulgar/risqué content, especially as it increases). Enjoy!**

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**I.**

* * *

"You're punching above your weight, boy; the payment stands at five pounds. Take it or leave it–"

"Out initial deal was ten pounds; _ten_pounds for locating and acquiring the painting; the cost to obtain it must be compensated." Niklaus Mikaelson set his palm down on the table, swallowing the building fury and fear that threatened to corrupt his composure. "Agree, and lets both get what we want, and be on our merry way. Refuse, and I–"

"What, alert the authorities? And let _them _imprison you?" The man chortled spitefully. "_Take the deal, _boy. You're desperate enough; it is money you can't afford to lose."

Begrudgingly, Klaus had to agree with him; it wasn't a simple matter – he couldn't pawn the painting off and take the bounty; someone would recognise the work. He couldn't report the man; _his own_ profession itself was of questionable legality. He needed to take the money.

"Eight pounds," he bartered, tone hard.

His customer withdrew a wad of notes, and set them down. "Five, and that's final."

Klaus grit his teeth – deliberating a long moment. He _needed _that money (it was still good money – just not _enough)_; he needed it for the information, and for passage. He couldn't afford to wind up in jail because he'd refused an outrageously reduced payment.

Swallowing once more, he reached forward – and his fingers curled around the roll of cash.

The middle-aged man offered a tight smile, reaching for the small, protected canvas by their feet. "Pleasure doing business with you." With subtle a tip of his wig, the gentleman stood with his prize, and departed – ghosted by two men Klaus surmised to have been reinforcements, should anything have gone wrong.

Not that Klaus blamed the man for _that _precaution; _he, _Niklaus, was man of a reputation, and tonight his customer had requested meeting in a tavern, in sight of the naked eye. He was on the end of his tether, and he _was _desperate; that evening, had the gentleman been unaccompanied; had Klaus been alone with him during the exchange – there was no telling what lengths he may have gone to.

"Penny for you thoughts?" Broke in a light, but careful voice – a familiar voice. A female.

Klaus lifted his head – unaware that he'd let it drop in the first place. "Have you _got _a penny?"

He knew the woman well; Sage. She was beautiful; rich red hair, light-blue eyes, a dimpled smile, lean, well rounded body – and was (_or _had_ been, rather) _his older brother's lover. When _it _had happened, she, along with another's sibling's love, and _he _himself had been left behind. The only three people in the universe that knew just _what _had happened. The only three people that understood each other's peril. That could talk about it.

"No, but I will shout you a drink." She reached into her skirt, and withdrew a rum bottle from a pouch. She handed it to him. "I take it from the tail-end I caught of _that..._another dodgy deal?"

"_Dodgy? _They're all fucking crooks."

"So are you."

His eyes shot to hers in lethal warning.

But she raised her palms in defence. "Your profession, not mine."

"Not by choice."

"Isn't it?"

He didn't respond; though circumstance had pushed him into the life and person he was, he hadn't been _forced; _there were always _other _ways. He just hadn't taken them.

"Do you have enough money to cross? To pay him?" Sage tried instead, as he took a swig.

"Not nearly enough," Klaus responded in a voice so low, it could have been mistaken for a growl. "At this stage, I'll arrive to find corpses."

Sage's face pinched and paled. A heavy, depressed silence settled between them, until she broke it – impulsively reaching out, and taking his hand. "You won't." She cast a look about them – checking – before commanding his attention with her eyes, and leaning forward, inclining for him to do the same. "Klaus...I hear a lot of talk; I see a lot of people that come into this tavern: I keep my ear open for you." She took a moment to exhale – whether for effect or to gather courage, he didn't know. "There's someone that can help you across; he approached me earlier; I don't know how or why he knew about it, but he did."

Klaus ripped his hand from hers, eyes wild. "You told–"

"No, I didn't!" Sage swore. "_He _approached me. He wanted to see you in person."

Klaus slumped back against his chair, skeptical. "And what's the price?"

"I guess you'll have to find out for yourself. He's lodging in room five upstairs – but only for one more night."

Klaus paused, raking his bottom lip through his teeth. "Is _this_ why you came to see me?"

She nodded, eyes darting back to the bar, where her fellow barmaid avoided the groping hands of tipsy village-men. "I had to see you before you took off again; it can't wait; he leaves for port in the morning."

"Port?"

"Business. He didn't specify, I didn't ask." The girl she worked with waved her over urgently. Sage stood. "I have to get back to work. But go and see him; tell me what he says."

"And why should I, in any way – feel obligated to do that?" Klaus challenged, though his tone was flat.

"Because I lost them too," she responded softly; watching as his defence lowered for a split second, and softened, wounded. Her eyes drifted to the rum bottle in his hands. "Keep it." With that, she pushed her way through the mesh of hot bodies toward the bar.

Klaus looked after her, bringing the bottle to his lips.

– **P –**

Within the next half an hour, he found himself standing before the said door. He couldn't quite fathom why – but after rapping his knuckles on the hardwood, a sickening twist pulled at his stomach.

His profession had led him to do things that he later regretted, but _this _was of a different magnitude entirely: a feeling of trepidation had his brow beading, and his fingers curling into his hot palms. After all, he hadn't encountered a pirate captain since–

"Just a lad," called a voluptuous, tanned brunette woman, upon drawing the door open. Naked beneath her untied silken robe, she stood proudly before him – commanding his attention.

It worked. Klaus was shaken from his distraction, and cleared his throat.

The captain was entertaining. Fantastic; he'd be in a short mood, no doubt eager to return to his paid company; Klaus knew he would have to be careful and concise with his choice words.

When the wench's eyes came back to survey him however, they narrowed. "Its _the _lad."

"Let him in." A low, Scottish lilt.

The woman moved to the opposite side of the room, pouring herself a glass of wine – and Klaus stepped inside.

The pirate captain slid from his bed, and reached for his pair of leather trousers. Tugging them on, he looked to Klaus. "Wine?" He was broad – the build of a warrior; well-muscled, olive skin, dark hair, dark eyes – and a cover of scruff on his attractive, structured face.

_Many a woman would have broken their heart over such a man_, Klaus internally conceded. If only he were so lucky himself.

Though he had absolutely _no_ trouble with women, they didn't fall 'in love' with him; they fell in _lust_ with him. He'd never been seen for anything more than a lean, well-muscled 'specimen'; a great fuck. _Never _a husband, and never anyone's 'love'; not since _her. _And ever since, he hadn't want it; perhaps, years ago, when he had been a dreamer – he just had to keep assuring himself that it wasn't loneliness rearing its head; that he wasn't craving the love of a woman; that he wasn't craving some similitude of peace, and a life outside thievery, anger, fear and complications.

Dismissing his thoughts, Klaus hastily motioned to his coat, where the bottle of rum protruded. "Thanks, all the same."

The captain grunted, barely bothering to lace his trousers – and came forward, arm outstretched. "Captain Alexander Reed, of _The_ _Rogue."_

Klaus clasped the man's hand – but hesitated before responding, "Niklaus Mikaelson..._ordinary citizen_."

Reed released his hand, chuckling. "You're far from ordinary, friend. I am well aware of your...talents; that's why I called you here."

"To commission me?"

"Yes."

"And what is the object you want me to procure?"

Reed pulled up a dining chair and sank into it, crossing his legs on the table. "Sit."

Klaus complied.

"I understand your current predicament; I also understand that you seek passage to _solve _the said issue," Reed revealed, taking a sip of his beverage. "It just so happens that Captain _you _owe to, _I _do as well; and he and I have come to a negotiation."

Klaus stiffened in his seat. "Under what terms?"

"_My _side of the deal, included finding you – employing you, telling you what information I could, and finding a means of passage for you. _Your side?_ If you can procure this...'item', and deliver it to the Captain, your debt is cleared; your family goes free," Reed declared. "If you fail..." he trailed off for effect. "Use your imagination; God save the souls of your brothers – but I'm sure that pretty little sis' of yours will go through _both _crews before she's–"

Klaus went to lurch across the table, but Reed raised a hand. "Try anything now, and they face such a fate before you can do anything to save them; understand?"

Klaus lowered back into his seat in submission. "What do you task me with?" He asked through his teeth.

"It is not an _object, _as such." Reed lifted his glass to his lips. "A _person_." He took a mouthful, swallowed. "To be more specific; a _woman._"

"A woman, Captain Reed?" Klaus frowned.

"You've the liberty of addressing me as Reed; I'm not your _captain_, mate. But yes – a _woman._"

"Quite a woman, if she's enough to clear the debt," Klaus mused.

"Indeed; an absolute beauty – a true jewel of the Caribbean, brought up kindly and properly – wanted by every man of worth or not. She's got a good heart – but don't be fooled; she's strong-willed and has a sharp tongue on her; a clever lass,_" _he chuckled. "She'd make for a hell of a pirate."

"You seem acquainted with her," Klaus observed.

"I've seen her _once, _and heard of her a thousand times," Reed responded. "She's a siren, to be sure; it's not doubt the Captain wants her."

"Are you sure I'm not procuring her for _you_?" Klaus smirked – but quickly realised it wasn't his place to make such remarks.

He was blessed with Reed's good temper.

"I may very well have my turn with her when the Captain is done," he responded, chuckling. "But not even I know what he wants her for; only that the price for finding her proportionates your family's freedom. This is a great mercy to you; do _not _make the mistake of taking it for granted."

Pressing his lips together, Klaus nodded. "So who is she?"

Reed grinned. "Lady Caroline Forbes; her mother is of nobel blood – though she grew up in the American colonies. The father married into it; _his _family made their fortune through military and trade in the West Indies. When she was a wee little girl, her parents moved from England to overtake the father's family affairs. She's ever since lived there, and acclimated a most impressive dowry – her father looks to only increase it. She's come back to England for a marriage – to a Duke; a _Lockwood_, if I remember correctly," Reed disclosed, draining his drink and waving his woman over before continuing, "the Lockwood family are filthy rich; between the two families, the ransom would be incredible; that is what I assume the Captain is after, but he didn't specify; I thus assume he has other plans for her, of which I'm not privy to."

"So the Captain has assigned me to 'procure' this Forbes girl – to _abduct _her from the house of her betrothed, before they marry?"

"Aye."

"And where shall I bring her to?"

"Why New Providence, of course."

"But how shall I get her there?"

Reed nodded to his woman – who fetched a leather pouch, and set it down before Klaus. "Take it as a sign of good faith–"

"You can understand my skepticism; coming from a pirate, and all."

Reed regarded him a moment – and Klaus was unsure whether the captain would laugh, or slay him with his sword. He then continued without doing either, "That, coupled with what you have saved for yourself will grant you both smuggler's passage andsilence on a merchant's ship. I've arranged the _which _for you; a company by the name of Salvatore – they specialise in pawning off stolen goods from our colony, in addition to _legal _trade. You have 'till nightfall tomorrow to capture her, and get her to the docks, or the ship leaves without you – and you find your own way. _Which, _mind you, _won't _be possible; you won't be able to secure safe passage with anyone else you could trust – and her people will have found and arrested you by then."

Klaus frowned. "Why couldn't I seek passage with you?"

"A girl of such beauty and innocence, amongst a full crew of pirates?" Reed scoffed at his ignorance. "My men would defy my orders and relentlessly fuck her. Sound like a good idea?" Klaus shifted uncomfortably at that, and the pirate then continued, "Besides – my ship is harboured in a private bay for obvious reasons, and I leave for it at dawn. There's urgent trade business to attend to, hence I cannot stay long enough for you to kidnap her, anyway–"

"The Persian trade-ship," Klaus intercepted, quickly comprehending; "there have been whispers in the tavern of its plentiful cargo for weeks now; I assume it has finally set sail?"

Narrowing his eyes, Reed nodded. "You make it your business to remain well informed."

"My choice employment demands it," Klaus answered.

"Fair enough," Reed responded, standing. "Anyway, _relevantly_: you're in luck; the girl has a lodging in town at 'The Crown' until her marriage; you'll find her there. _Not _at the home of her betrothed – which works far better for you;...less guards."

Klaus stood also, reaching out, and shaking the man's hand. "I can and will do it, Reed. My thanks to you for seeking me out." He made for the door – but his hand paused on the knob when the pirate called out to him.

"Oh, and Mikaelson?"

He turned the slightest. "Yes?"

"No sympathies for the girl's plight; the Captain wants her, and you know very well what will happen if you don't deliver her," Reed warned. "Or, alternatively – so much as touch her yourself, and you'll answer to his wrath too, understood? She's not yours."

"Noted, Sir," Klaus responded surely. "I wouldn't put my family at stake for any stranger; you mistake me for someone with moral obligation."

"Good to know," Reed chuckled. "You'd make quite the pirate; if you would ever give up your profession, I should like to make use of your talents. We are treasure hunters after all – and _you _have a knack for uncovering such things."

"Is that an offer of position on your ship, Sir?"

"Only if you want it to be."

Klaus paused, nodding. "Perhaps one day." He rolled his shoulders, returning to the point of relevance. "She's but a simple girl, Sir, and my mission; you can count on me to deliver."

Reed's face fell – dark, and threateningly serious. "She's anything _but _simple; never forget that."

Klaus nodded once, and took his leave.

Walking down the dim hall to the descending stairway – Reed's final words wrestled in his mind. He couldn't suppress the brief, cold shudder that erupted through his body at the thought of the girl, and her unfortunate fate (though he claimed indifference – she was no doubt the same age as his own sister). He soon shook himself out of doubt, however: a weak person she may not be, but an _assignment_ she _was_; and he, a man reputed for never failing on a deal, could – and _would _deliver. There was absolutely no reason for any impediment or obstruction of any kind.

Nothing would stand between him, and his family.


	3. II

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any of the characters from TVD/TO – they belong to W. , Alloy Entertainment, LJ Smith, Julie Plec, Kevin Williamson and other respective creative minds. _Everything else belongs to, and is copyrighted to me._ I write for my own pleasure and enjoyment, not for monetary gain._

**Hi all! I sincerely apologise for the delay in continuing this. Thank you so much for being awesomely patient, especially those of you who have shown your support for the story already! ****Chapter contains mild dashes of profanity and there are references to rape, but nothing of the sort occurs in this chapter. ****Enjoy!**

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**II.**

* * *

Lady Caroline Forbes was not a typically conventional young woman.

Though born of superior rank, she had been raised in the tropics and seen more than most females of society could only dream of seeing in a lifetime; an only child to parents who were frequently absent, she'd needed to be necessarily enduring. Caroline was headstrong, and seemingly sure of herself – but her clever, resourceful persona was wasted on her position.

She was meant for _more_ than dining in great halls, entertaining, practicing the arts – and looking lovely on the arm of various men of importance. Caroline had the capacity to be truly _great; _to be _more _than a pretty face, or the subject of awed conversation; she was meant for _more_ than being the _means_ and _end_ to a business transaction.

But, all that said, nothing – not even her own self assurances – could change the simple inescapable reality she was subject to: she was a child born of nobility, she was a _woman_ – and therefore _(as had currently come into fruition)_, she had _no_ control over her own destiny. The money to her name, binding her to her heritage, ensured that she would never determine her own fate – and most certainly, never marry for love.

She was perpetually imprisoned by the conventions of such an era.

And thus, those singular, irrefutable truths constrained her true self; she was the equivalent to a brilliant, ensnared bird – caged, with its wings clipped.

She didn't _want_ to be submissive, but as she had grown out of any childhood fantasies of independence, her parents had made it clear that she was in thrall to familial duty; she had not been a son, and therefore incapable of carrying any legacy on her own. Her _legacy_ would be marriage – and whatever significant monetary advancement _that_ brought her family. Painstakingly, Caroline had come to realise – as her father had dragged her out of their home in the West Indies, and onto a ship that would meet her with her future – she had no other choice.

_Choice_ was a luxury – and though Caroline had been born with many privileges, free will wasn't one of them.

Presently, she exercised what little rebellion her life allowed for.

Sprawled on her back beneath an Oak Tree, in a secluded area of her betrothed's estate, Caroline had discarded her shoes and stockings, and loosened the strings of her corset. Chin resting on her collarbone, her eyes engaged with the words on the page above, and she completely lost herself in the narrative before her.

Until her solitude was broken minutes or hours later.

Though, to be fair, she hadn't been alone to begin with.

"Your mother would have me burned at the stake if she knew I'd given you that," Caroline's handmaiden hissed, dark brown eyes straying from the needlework in her hands, to meet the narrowed blue gaze of her mistress.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "That's being a bit dramatic," she sighed, before softening, "I would never tell her, Bonnie." She lowered her arm, resting _Arabian Nights _on her chest. "You know I would never do that."

Though Bonnie believed her, her teeth raked over her bottom lip nervously.

And Caroline understood; this was so strange for her – _London; _its bustle, its society, its conventions, its _judgement – _above all, its was a dangerous place for individuals.

Caroline herself had been startled by it; having grown up in a freer place, where Bonnie's family were respected within the community for the honest, hardworking businesspeople they were – coming to London, such kindness and good endeavour meant nothing. Bonnie was scarcely spared a glance – let alone a respective one; not even by the Lockwood staff she shared living quarters and meals with. Not even by those with positions _below _hers.

It was outrageous, and Caroline didn't want to spend the rest of her life in such a world; she didn't want _Bonnie _to have to spend the rest of her life in such a world – for above all, amongst her rare opinions, strength and moral compass – Caroline adamantly valued worth of character and endeavour, over monetary wealth and rank.

_That_ hadn't been something her parents had passed on; they hadn't been around to do it. It had been something she'd learned and adopted on her own.

"Mistress," Bonnie quietly interjected, causing Caroline to break from her strayed thoughts. "The light is beginning to fade; we need to head back."

Reluctantly, Caroline complied, fixing her attire, and taking the reigns of her horse when they were handed to her. Both mounting with ease, they set off towards the great house.

– **P –**

His skin crawled, and his fingers instinctively curled into his palms, forming fists. His mouth felt dry – sour with a bad taste. He hadn't even realised he'd quickened his stride until he'd clumsily nearly tripped over his own feet, jumping up from the road to the raised pavement.

He _hated _this part of town.

Thankfully, the duration of his visit would be short; a quick call, in which time he would enlist a woman of _many _conniving talents, in order to carry out the kidnapping.

_Katherine Pierce._

He'd known her five years now, and despite their differences, he respected her uncanny ability to endure at all costs – for, like himself, she was a survivor. While she'd proved a strong-willed specimen upon his first meeting her, she hadn't always been so self-determined and assertive; the elusive daughter of the wealthy Bulgarian immigrant family by the name of _Petrova, _that lived in Boston, Katerina_ (as Klaus had initially known her) _had been shamed and cast off by her family, as a result of living with a man (unmarried) and falling pregnant out of wedlock.

Klaus himself hated her, but it was consequently her ties to his family that had seen her take such a fall from grace; for her lover – the man who had _fathered_ her child – had been his older brother.

Despite the fact that the baby had been a stillborn – _and_ despite Katherine's subsequent distress, her family had refused to take her back. Somewhat responsible for her plight _(and, at the behest of her lover)_ the Mikaelson family had been willing to help her disappear, and start over. She'd changed her name, and was to follow them to their home in the Caribbean – however, their plans to return to New Providence had been impeded.

And made altogether impossible.

After _that_ fateful night, _she_ had become _his_ responsibility – along with his eldest brother's lover, Sage. Together, the remaining three had booked passage to England: a place where their identities were known to very few, and the mere scale of the city, and its surprising high demand for their skill-sets _(of questionable legality)_ made it an effective platform to scheme, and work towards freeing their loved ones.

It had been twelve months since, and they'd all to an extent dispersed from one another, but – as previously vouched for with Sage's assistance the night before – there came moments where they unwillingly worked together.

Reaching her apartment at last, he was greeted by none other than Katherine herself, though he'd admittedly expected another man _(for there had been many a rumour about her societal conduct)_. Opening the door slowly, her gaze met his, and for the briefest of moments it was saturated with hope, but then, quietly overcome with tired question; they'd had so many false hopes and leads, he didn't blame her.

Despite her deflated spirit, she was nonetheless as beautiful as she always was; a lean, toned form, visible and accentuated through a fitted corset and transparent undergarments; glorious tresses of thick, brown waves that cascaded freely over her shoulders – and those _eyes; _dark almonds, that had the power to scrutinise, judge and challenge in one sweeping glance.

If he hadn't been so irked by her snarky, trying personality and tendency to manipulate, he might have been attracted to her.

And there was also the matter of her belonging to his brother.

Regardless of what little moral endeavour he had left – Klaus would not stoop to crossing swords.

"Aren't you going to ask to come in?" She boredly greeted, cocking an eyebrow as he looked her over in distaste.

His eyes met hers, narrowed – lips pressed together. He nodded tersely, and stepped in.

"What have I done to deserve a house-call? Have you liberated them from their island prison..._all on your own_?" She prodded dryly, tone dripping with heavy denigration towards him; she was _aware_ that he had not yet rescued the family, and how much that fact tortured him.

God, he fucking hated her.

Sharply – yet exercising commendable control – he responded defensively, "I have been doing everything in my power to get them back–"

"As have I–"

"By readily w_horing _yourself? Yes, I–"

His insult was cut short by the snap of her palm meeting his cheek.

Klaus fingers rose to the stinging flesh, mouth curling in a snarl. "You know nothing of the responsibility that burdens me – and _you're_ a _part_ of that encumbrance. Now, I know that I can't lay an angry hand on you, lest my brother cut off my preferred attachment – but you're treading _dangerously_, _Katerina."_

If it were possible, her eyes narrowed even further; cat-like. "Then you will not address me thus; I am a thief, not a prostitute."

Klaus bit the inside of his cheek, and looked over her. "Then how do you explain _this?" _He motioned to her minimal, provoking attire.

"I was about to dress for an assignment," she responded, turning on her heel, and making for the kitchen. "I have been tasked with acquiring something valuable," she elaborated, "that requires sufficient...persuasion."

"_Was_?" Klaus picked, following her.

Taking a decanter of red wine and two glasses in her hands, Katherine faced him, lifting a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Something tells me you require my services far more urgently." She paused, face momentarily softening with vulnerability – eyes, darkening with sadness, but also moistening with the faintest breath of desperation. "Is it about–"

"Yes."

Katherine let out an unsteady breath, and her gaze lifted with a sort of relief. "What–"

"I've been tasked with acquiring something in exchange for the coordinates of their whereabouts, and their freedom."

The brunette set down the alcohol and glasses, pouring them each a fair amount. Handing it to him, Katherine lowered her voice, "What do you have to steal?"

Klaus brought the glass to his lips. "I should probably specify." He took a sip. "It's not a _what, _it's a _who_; a girl."

Katherine choked on her drink. "_Who_ could possibly equate the value of _six_ people?"

"Lady Caroline Forbes, apparently," Klaus revealed, throwing back another mouthful.

Katherine paled, setting down her glass. "_The _Lady Caroline Forbes? Fuck."

Klaus' brows furrowed. "Is she really that famous?"

"Not famous; just...of great interest to certain people."

"Obviously; the pirate that employed me – Reed – was quite taken with her; though I can't understand _his_ fascination." Klaus paused – doubly, for momentarily considering the another brutal pirate (who had taken his family, and requested the kidnapping of the young lady), and, for examining Katherine's words. "What do you mean by '_certain_ people'?"

"How much did this...Reed tell you?"

"Scarcely anything, but a vague warning with regards to her," Klaus answered slowly. "Why?"

"The less you know, the better, I suppose." Katherine waved a hand. "Forget I said anything; you need to get the job done, without any complications impeding you. Knowing too much could jeopardise the task at hand." She closed the distance between them. "And we need _them_ back. Whatever happens, don't underestimate _her_ value – but lest of all, don't forget _why_ you're doing it; no sympathy for her plight." Squaring her shoulders, she plied the glass from his hand, and set it down. "Now...what do you need me to do?"

– **P –**

"I'll be back in a moment."

Sitting at her vanity, Caroline watched Bonnie disappear into the adjourning room to ready the bath – and when sure that she was alone, slumped, covering her face with her hands. Tears threatened behind closed lids, and her throat was tight with suppressed emotion.

_What a God-damned mess._

Her engagement; her relationship with her parents now; her _life._

If the dinner that evening had proven anything, it was that she was now the furthest from her parents than she'd ever been – _and_ from the life she'd once known, and wanted.

It didn't help that she _hated him_; her _fiancé_, Tyler Lockwood.

To be fair, not _wholly_ – for while he was an inconsiderate, greedy, frustrating product of his wealth and position...she had to keep on reminding herself that it wasn't his fault; that he was essentially just as powerless with regards to the choice of bride, as she was as his betrothed. However, her fiancé didn't appear to be wholly opposed to the marriage, _despite_ the rumours she'd heard of his dalliances with a fiery woman of inferior rank _(Olivia was the girl's name, if she was not mistaken_).

But they were, of course, only rumours – and he was a man, and thus impervious to scrutiny.

So there was no way of using _that _to escape her impending nuptials.

There was no swaying her parents.

There was no way out.

She needed a miracle – and as she sat there, head in her hands, reflective of the night's events, and the prior weeks of torture this society had dealt her...she prayed for one.

And once she had, she did what she always did; what she did _best_: she swallowed her ails and worries, dried her eyes, squared her shoulders, and dealt with it. Buried it. Because she _had_ to – and as much as she already hated what was to be her new life, she knew that she just had to deal with it.

She had to be _strong_, she had to _survive_.

Standing and stepping away from the mirror, Caroline paused at the suite wardrobe and her fingers worked away the strings at the back of her dress. Grunting unfavourably when they knotted, she went to call her handmaiden – but light footsteps sounded behind her, and moments later hands made work of the stubborn fastenings on her bodice.

"Thank you," Caroline sighed, closing her eyes, patiently awaiting her to finish. "Gods, I'd much prefer not having to wear all of these ridiculous layers at all." She scrunched her nose.

And stilled when she received no response.

No chuckle.

No hum of agreement.

She strained her eyes towards the mirror, but was out its line of sight.

Caroline willed every cell in her body to remain calm, and forced herself to refrain from pointlessly crying out.

_Because whomever was standing behind her, was not Bonnie._

And they had not entered through a door, or any window in the bedroom.

They'd entered through the bathroom.

Which meant–

"I'd much prefer you without them as well," the intruder amusedly commented, cutting through the tense silence – confirming his presence. He leant into her, lips at her ear, breath hot on her neck: "But that wouldn't be appropriate, for we haven't even been _introduced–_"

In utter terror, Caroline threw away any rationality and lurched towards the door, crying out.

It had been pointless; she knew that – but such circumstances called for desperate actions.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist – and then his other hand muffled her mouth.

Screaming against his palm, she began to fall. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," the man warned in her ear. "Crying for help is useless; no one can or will come to your aid."

And then he was dragging her down – onto her back.

Terror choked every breath, and sent every cell in her body into a frenzy as she fought to escape.

Settling his legs either side of her body, he pressed down on her hips, thus impeding her legs – and made quick work of bringing her flailing hands together, and binding them. Pressed into the rug by his weight, his hands pinning her arms, Caroline closed her eyes in fear, turning her face away from him – though she didn't relent in her physical struggle.

Undeterred by her thrashing, his voice came – surprisingly gentle, but evidently cautioning, "Stop fighting love; it's pointless." He paused – and amidst her flurry of thoughts, Caroline could not discern _why._ "I'm not going to hurt you."

It was as if a switch instantaneously flipped. Though every frightened cell in her body screamed against it, Caroline's fight subsided, and she slowly grew defeatedly limp in his arms. Whole body trembling, heart pounding wildly against her ribcage, tears of dread bleeding from her eyes, she awaited the puncture of a dagger. Or the tearing of her skirts, and the subsequent, excruciating invasion to her dry, tight loins that would follow.

"Please," she cried against his hand, shuddering with terror.

His hand fell away from her mouth slightly.

"Please," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with." _Or...if you're going to do otherwise, kill me first, please._ She desperately, despairingly prayed for a quick end, if anything.

_Prayed! _God, she was so _stupid._ She berated herself for her earlier, pleas for deliverance; she'd wanted a way out, and she'd cursed herself instead. She'd obviously been a worse daughter, and lived a far more dishonest life than she'd thought she had, to have warranted such quick and immediate judgement.

And then bizarrely, all horrors that she'd concocted in her mind were put to a sudden rest, when he spoke.

His _voice_; his reiterated, surprisingly sincere promise.

"I am _not_ going to _hurt_ you, love."

Caroline turned her head towards him, eyes slowly opening, and catching his.

Mesmerising, light blue, and starkly contrasting his pearl skin – they held hers indefinitely; as if, in that very moment, he were trying to read her as much as she him.

And she hated herself for acknowledging it. For even _thinking _it – but she couldn't deny it. Not even under such circumstances. For the briefest of moments – a split _second – _she caught her breath.

Because he was undeniably attractive; a severely handsome, chiselled face, full lips, dirty-blonde hair – and a presence that ensnared her.

But not only that; her breath hitched, because she _saw _something; a _flicker_ of something: the remnants of a lost man she couldn't even begin to comprehend. She didn't even _know _this person – this strong, attractive, dangerous man – but in the strangest, bizarre moment of kindred attraction, she glimpsed a soul torn between a goodness, and darkness within himself.

_He didn't _want_ to hurt her._

Regret clearly pained his features, at the fear he'd provoked in her.

He didn't _want_ to hurt her.

So who in God's name was he? What on _earth _was his business with her? Such an analysis of his character meant nothing, if she was unawares of his intentions with her. Her eyes swept over him as best she could in her current position – trying to gage who or _where _he was from.

He sported a worn navy coat – and beneath that, Caroline spied a faded black linen shirt without a cravat or neck handkerchief; it was partially undone, exposing some of his chest. Black leather breaches covered his strong legs, and his weathered leather boots of the same hue, were identical to those she'd seen on pirates in the West Indies.

But he didn't _look _like a pirate – he didn't _seem _like _pirate_; though she had no doubt he was was probably under the employ of one.

Caroline realised her eyes had wandered far too long. Just as she was willing herself to look away, however, something else caught her attention.

A necklace, dangling towards her, from his exposed neck.

A pendant. A _crest_.

She _knew _it – but _where_ from?

"Find everything you were looking for, love?" The man interjected amusedly, chuckling.

Heart jumping, she caught his gaze once more. "What do you want with me?" She voiced in a whisper – surprised, as her fear began to dissipate.

He paused a long moment, as if debating whether to trust her. She could almost appreciate the irony – and perhaps would have, if the tables were turned.

"Someone wants you," he eventually responded, simply – though his eyes clearly warned that there would be no further divulgence after he finished talking. "I was employed by the said someone to see that you're delivered," he responded quickly – almost flippantly. "Nothing personal."

An anger flared hotly in her chest, restoring a firmness within her. "You have jumped me in my bedroom, sir – have _touched _my underclothes, spoken to me inappropriately; held me roughly, and physically entrapped me, _pinning_ me to the floor!" She incredulously spat. "I'd say you've made it irrefutably _'personal'!"_

He seemed to consider her a moment, amused. "That I have." He was quiet a moment, eyes shifting – glazing over with a certain coldness; he seemed to be remembering his purpose.

"Listen carefully, sweetheart," he then murmured, tone low and almost menacing – blue eyes seemingly black. "You can come willingly, or I will have to use far less pleasant methods to motivate your cooperation – but know this; either way, you _will _be coming with me; whether it be in tow, or thrown over my shoulder."

She didn't believe him; the _threats, yes – _but not the person. He could convincingly play the perpetrator, but there was something off about it; it wasn't _him. _

Internally, Caroline regrouped – dismissing her own analysis of the stranger; of her _captor. _Her father had always forewarned such a talent for reading people would one day land her in terrible trouble. "I vote none of the provided options," she responded through gritted teeth. "What if I refuse entirely?"

"Then – as I stated – I will _persuade _you."

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," Caroline immediately fired back.

"That I did."

"So then _what_?" She expelled, barely above a whisper. "What _can _you do?"

The man cleared his throat loudly.

A woman emerged, shoving Bonnie in front – arm wrapped about the servant's throat.

"I can hurt _her_."

"Oh my god–" Caroline thrashed against her captor again.

"_Uh uh," _the man warned, shaking his head, chastising her.

She stilled, though her whole frame moved with fearful, heaving breaths – trepidation no longer for her own safety, but her innocent friend. "Don't you fucking _touch _her."

The man's eyebrows darted towards the roof, and he let out a surprised chuckle. "Now _that_ is _no_ way for a lady such as yourself to speak."

"And this is in no way an appropriate position for a _lady _such as myself to _be in_," Caroline hissed, indicating with her head to the way his hips straddled her.

The man grimaced. "So it isn't." He stood, and roughly pulled her to her feet. "Better?" His hand tightly encircled one of her arms.

She winced in discomfort at the contact.

Her captor looked to the woman that had accompanied him.

"What are you doing?" The brunette growled, exasperated. "_Sedate her_, you fool_,_" she ordered.

The man shook his head in disagreement. "She'll come willingly." He leant over, lips brushing against her ear, breath hotly fanning against her. "Won't you, _sweetheart_?"

Defying reason, logic and morality – a shiver trailed down Caroline, and a subtle ache coursed between her hips.

But she quickly, angrily dismissed it – eyes on her handmaiden once more. "Yes," she grit.

"Bullshit," the brunette responded. "She'll holler to the first pedestrian. Don't be daft; you've got the ether, _use_ it."

Caroline looked pleadingly to the man – but he was already withdrawing a saturated cloth. If she was unconscious, she'd have no idea where she was going. Or, how to get _back, _should she manage to escape.

"No," she implored, shaking her head wildly. "D–"

He pressed it to her mouth.

Inhaling was inevitable.

Her vision blurred. Her mind fogged. Her limbs began to feel unbearably heavy; her breaths, shallow–

She slipped into nothingness.

– **P –**

As she began to collapse limply against him, Klaus took the young woman up in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

It was a pity; she was beautiful. Incredibly alluring. Feisty.

He couldn't deny the physical attraction he felt towards her; under different circumstances, he might have–

_No, _he was quick to internally halt that line of thought: she was an assignment; she was the means of his family's survival – their _freedom. _There could be no pity for her plight – there could be _nothing else:_ he'd already treated her too kindly.

But only because he'd been so _taken_ with her–

_Bloody hell._

He had been cautioned; he _had_ to be indifferent towards her, at all costs.

She was _cargo _to transport and deliver. A _bargaining chip_. An _assignment–_

"What do you want done with this one?" Katherine interrupted his thoughts flatly, irritated with him for the way he'd gone about the kidnapping. _Amateur. _"She's seen us; she heard it all – she knows to much."

"That she does."

"We need to finish her."

Klaus paused, sizing up his ally; she had the aggravating tendency to act as though she always knew best – _as her tone presently, very well indicated_ – and although Klaus himself had never kidnapped before, he was in no mood to solicit her unwanted advice. He responded to her firm response in kind: "Not yet," he ordered. "Bring her along. She won't cause a fuss" – he directed his attention to the coloured girl – "will you?"

The handmaiden struggled to lift her chin in defiance, airways constricted.

"I'll take that as a yes." Klaus looked to Katherine, whose eyes were narrowed in doubt. "She'll want to stay with her mistress – and she'll provide sufficient _motivation _for cooperation or good behaviour, if need be." And though his eyes flickered to the slumbering blonde in his arms, he still felt Katherine's heated gaze on him. "You needn't look at me like that, for it really isn't your concern," he responded wearily, head lifting to level with her stare. "They're under _my_ charge; this is _my _task. _My _choices. _My _responsibility."

"And _mine, _for the next half an hour." Katherine dragged the girl towards the door. "You'll regret this."

"I know what I'm doing," he snapped.

"Do you?" She countered, yanking the door open. "If you did, you wouldn't have defended so quickly."

He wanted to respond. Wanted to retort. Wanted to swear at her.

But no words would fall from his lips, for he knew she spoke the truth.

Because he _was _unsure of himself; he'd never lacked incentive in any given task, but since his childhood and tumultuous relationship with his father, Klaus had always lacked a confidence in himself – and he'd spent his _whole _life trying to prove otherwise.

And while that inherent weakness wasn't such a worry when he was merely stealing trinkets or paintings – this_ woman _was another story entirely. Upon accepting the task, he'd thought nothing of it; she was a treasure to acquire, and deliver. But the moment he'd _seen _her – the moment she'd_ fought back; _when she'd _snapped _at him and defended her _handmaiden – _she'd simultaneously reawakened something unfathomable, deep within.

Something _kindred_; an understanding: they shared a common attitude; with their backs against a wall, they fought – but more than that, viciously _battled_ for _others._

He couldn't even _explain _it; the power of _her – _of the curious, uneasy effect she had on him.

And it _wasn't_ rational – he couldn't even put a finger on it.

But it had been _real. _

There was _something _about her.

And he knew in that very moment, he had been rightly warned about her.

As travelled to the docks minutes later via carriage, her unconscious form slumped against him – his eyes absently rested on her slumbering face in question. His heart jolted whilst he took in her person – just as it had, the first moment his eyes had met the challenge in her own blue-green. Presently, he fought to brush stray locks from her face – but, aware of Katherine's scrutiny, and the situation itself, he thought better of it.

Inexplicably drawn to her, he regarded her with confusion, intrigue and apprehension.

_What on earth do they want with you? _He wondered silently as her body bumped gently against his with the motion of the carriage, and he fought to keep his thoughts from straying to _other _far more pleasurable scenarios when her body could be rocking into him so.

Distracting from that line of contemplation, Klaus examined her person. He took in the gentle curve of her pink lips, the softness of her cheekbones, the light freckles on her nose; she was healthy, vibrant and sun kissed – unconventional and rare for a lady of her rank. Indicative due to her the strength in which she'd fought, her physical appearance – _and_ the foul language she'd used, he had no doubt she'd grown up somewhere far from England. Far from the Old World.

Closer to _his _world.

So _what _had she been doing in _London_?

And _what_ did everyone _want _with her?

Much to his surprise, he felt his heart sink as he acknowledged that he would have had a hand in exposing her to what ever terrors lay ahead – but such remorse was quickly followed by the echo of his family's timeless vow to one another.

_Family above all else, always and forever._

He could not feel for another; he could not care. His duty to them was all that mattered.

So then _why_ – in the furthest, forbidden corners of his conscience and heart, in _that_ very moment – did he feel as though he were going to break it?


	4. III

**A/N: Thank you to all of you who have shown your support thus far! I know I'm a slow writer, and you've been absolutely wonderful – it means more to me than you could know, please keep it up!  
**

**With this chapter, please remember that it's very early stages in the fic; so obviously, however they feel towards one another (and what they may declare/say) is subject to change! Just trust me, and enjoy!**

* * *

**III.**

* * *

The night had grown bitter and chill by the time their carriage reached the docks. A thick fog had fallen, swathing the waterfront buildings in a grey cover, icing the dark waters and cloaking the boats. If Klaus had been superstitious, he would have accepted the eerie weather as an omen; a final warning, for the line that he was about to cross.

But he wasn't, and took no such notice – only grumbling unfavourably as it bit through any exposed or thinly covered skin.

_Soon, _his conscience spurred. Soon he would be _home_; in _his_ climate, with his family safely at his side.

Klaus then stilled, a sudden reality weighing upon him. _But where would 'home' be, after all this? _Certainly not Nassau. They could never return there. Klaus doubted, after he was granted his family's freedom and location, that _the Captain_ would be so gratuitous as to give them their old lives back too. They were forever changed, and ultimately displaced.

"That ship won't wait," Katherine flatly intercepted, jabbing him roughly in the back with a finger – her other arm crooked tightly about the maid's neck. "So unless you're having second thoughts, and you'd like me to complete the task for you–"

Klaus whipped to face her. "If you don't cease talking, the next thing to come out of your mouth will be your teeth." His mouth thinned, curling into a snarl. "_Get her to the ship_."

Scowling, Katherine roughly pulled the girl away.

Turning back toward the opened door, Klaus half stepped inside, bringing a charcoal, weathered cloak about the shoulders of his captive, and pulling the hood over her head, concealing her face. Though he doubted she would be noticed, given the weather he'd been blessed with – he couldn't risk someone by slim chance recognising her; _not when they were so close to getting away_. Considerably, they'd been lucky thus far; he'd only taken the lives of seven people that night – and while a part of him wanted to feel remorseful for that, he had to bury such weakness. Weakness allowed for fear and irrationality; in culmination, all lead to death.

He would be wanted man, as of the next morning when the murders were discovered; he could never return to England _(not that he really wanted to)_ – but regardless, his face would be known to all the King's men. He could never take and honourable job again. And though it were impossible anyway...he could never return to his family's trade. He was forever ruined, and would be forever hunted.

There was now blood on his hands – and an aching suspicion in his conscience forewarned that it was only the beginning.

_But the deaths that occurred, had to happen, _he internally coached, cleansing himself of any guilt.

He'd had no other choice. _He didn't have a choice._

Not when it came to _them_.

Eyes falling upon the very ticket to his family's freedom, Klaus took the young women up in his arms, and strode into the grey, damp haze – guided by the lanterns that marked the ship awaiting them.

– **P –**

Damon Salvatore was an arrogant, irritating man. A son of the Northern American colonies, he was handsome – dark hair, piercing pale-blue eyes, well-muscled, and boasting a strong square jaw; many a woman would have been fooled into his bed. But he also possessed an inflated sense of self-worth and entitlement – he was too bold; his character and conversation, forced.

This, Klaus had all garnered in the half-an-hour he'd known –_ and immediately disliked_ – him.

Graced with his company, as the last of the illegal cargo was stowed away in the hold, Klaus learned the man was not in fact the captain – and much to the man's chagrin, under the command of his younger brother Stefan, at the behest of their father, Giuseppe, who owned the entire company (_and apparently – unashamedly – favoured his youngest son_).

Damon's hatred and jealously towards his younger brother was transparent and unchastened – but it was something Niklaus himself could understand. With four – now _three –_ brothers of his own, there had been much familial competition; not only had there been other siblings to contest with, but they'd already held something over him: they'd been of Mikaelson blood, and he, the bastard son as a result of his mother's unfaithfulness. It hadn't mattered _what _he'd ever done to try and surpass them, and win the favour of their father – he had always been inadequate. He had always been a _failure_.

He could _not fail_ in this endeavour.

The very lives of his family depended on it.

"You might want to head below deck," Damon flatly suggested – although it sounded much more like an order. "We're casting off, and you'll just get in the way."

Klaus went to turn around – but stilled, as his eyes caught something.

"What is _she _still doing here?" He grit savagely through his teach, moving to remove Katherine himself. He'd told her to leave the moment they'd safely stowed the captives in the brig below. She was supposed to dispose of the carriage; he'd watched her leave the ship himself.

And hadn't seen her return.

Damon laid a strong hand on his shoulder, restraining him. "_She_ stays."

Anger flared hotly in Klaus' chest. "I won't pay for her passage."

"You needn't." Damon's eyes rested on the striking brunette – a lecherous smirk curling on his lips. "She's agreed to pay herself."

Klaus felt his stomach twist; if his brother were ever to know...gods, the distraught and fury. _Fucking wench._

Clearly feeling Klaus' judgement, the older Salvatore outwardly chuckled it off. "A man needs company on these _long _journeys; and she was more than obliging to provide her services. She's no common whore; she's beautiful and trying. I want her for myself. If you have an issue with her aboard, you have a minute to leave the vessel before it launches. Your choice–"

"_Brother_," a calm voice called, interrupting them. Emerging from his quarters, the Captain directed a look of disapproval at Damon. "You might want to see your _company _to your quarters; the both of you will only get in the way of _my_ crew." Eyes narrowed in loathing, Damon turned on his heel and strode to Katherine. The younger Salvatore then turned his gaze on Klaus, and smiled apologetically. "Please forgive him; I'd say he just restless to get home, but there really never is any excuse for Damon's spitefulness."

He was a classically handsome young man, presumably in his early twenties. His strong bone structure and deep-set forrest green eyes gave him an air of maturity and intenseness that immediately confirmed why he would have been put in charge over his impulsive, capricious brother.

Presently, like a gentleman, he extended a hand. "Captain Stefan Salvatore."

Clasping and shaking it, Klaus returned the gesture of kindness. "Niklaus Mikaelson."

Stefan didn't even bat an eyelid – and yet he was fully aware of who the man before him was; he made no passing comment, as Damon had. He treated him as he would any other respectable man.

Yes, Klaus could definitely understand why Stefan had been entrusted over Damon.

"I trust your own cargo is secure downstairs?" the young captain enquired.

Klaus nodded, before lowering his voice. "Has your crew been briefed?"

Stefan paused a moment. "Yes."

"You understand the need for discretion, don't you?" Klaus stressed, unsettled by his hesitation. The young man seemed good and honest to be sure – but that was exactly what worried him; he was kind – and kindness could lead to sympathy for the girl's plight. "No one must know, lad. Lives are at stake here."

"And what about _hers?"_ Stefan wondered, stepping away towards the helm. Klaus opened his mouth to respond, but the younger man beat him to it. "You have my word, her presence on this ship will not be known to anyone other than those aboard it now." He began ascending the stairs to the helm, and looked over his shoulder. "Lives are at stake here, after all," he parroted. "Not just those important to you, but everyone under my employ – and my family, if it is ever revealed that we aided your kidnapping the girl."

Klaus pressed his lips together, and nodded in understanding and acceptance. Unfortunately, that was an irrefutable truth; this endeavour to free his family would only continue to snare more innocents in its net. And in the end, it would no longer be solely about his family; _others _were going to get hurt.

But he couldn't afford to think like that.

Inhaling a deep lungful of the brisk night air, Klaus made for his quarters.

– **P –**

Caroline awoke with a pained grown, head pounding, vision blurred she struggled to emerge from the fogged confines of unconsciousness. Vaguely registering a gentle, damp pressure on her wrists, and then forehead, she was guided out of her drugged haze.

"Thank god," came her handmaiden's trembling, hoarse voice.

"_Bonnie_," Caroline mumbled almost incoherently, struggling to clear her dry throat. When her friend pressed a metal goblet to her lips, she gulped a mouthful of its contents – before spluttering it out.

_Ale._

Limbs heavy, stomach churning, Caroline gripped the floor – _straw_ – and pushed herself up, despite her handmaiden's protests. She stumbled forward with the motion of her prison as it rocked, catching herself on the iron-barred walls of her cell – and surveyed her surrounds.

They shared quarter with stacked crates of cargo and stolen goods; among the likes of produce and furniture. Through crevices between the stacked freight, Caroline spied damp, dark panels of wood. There was no mistaking the dank, salty air that clung to her nostrils, or the faint lapping of water.

She had been raised by the sea, and been on many a ship – and knew for sure, in that very moment, she was aboard one.

And then it returned to her.

That evening – the intruder, his alias.

The kidnapping.

A fresh wave of anger and fear swirled hotly in her chest. Caroline spun around to face Bonnie, who was now on her feet – and couldn't keep the tremble from her voice. "Where are we?...How long have I–?"

"I don't know. We've been sailing a day."

"And in what direction?"

"West, mistress." She paused. "You've been out the entire day; it must have been a severely concentrated dose – and it's very likely he gave you another boost when we were briefly separated."

Caroline pressed a hand to her forehead. "Has _he _been down here?"

"Nay, a young boy; he brought us the ale and the biscuits."

At the mention of food, Caroline's stomach morphed from a state of queasiness to ravenous hunger; she hadn't in almost a full day. "Where?"

"Sorry?"

"Where are they?"

Bonnie bent, passing a small chipped ceramic plate to her. There were two.

Caroline snatched one, stuffing it in her mouth – not caring that it was already terribly stale. Swallowing, she reached for the second, but halted. "Wait, have you had any?"

Bonnie shook her head. "But go ahead; I'm not hungry."

Caroline's brows creased disapprovingly. "_Bonnie._" She pushed the plate back to her friend. "_Eat_."

Reluctantly, the maid complied, nibbling and savouring her ration with a restraint Caroline envied – and in that moment, with a cold chill down her spine, the young Lady became painstakingly aware of how _(despite being raised in the West Indies)_ she was in no way equipped for what lay ahead.

Feeling Bonnie's questioning eyes upon her, she resolved to improve her poker-face, and shook off the threat of her incompetence. "Now listen to me," she commanded. "Under no circumstance – no matter what happens – should you value my life above yours. Do _not_ starve or deny yourself sustenance on my account. It is _my _fault that you're here, and in danger. I will not let you suffer any further. Do you understand?"

Bonnie swallowed, eyes averting hers.

"_Bonnie."_

They caught hers, and they were moist. "It's my job to look out to you–"

"No, as _friends_, it's _our_ duty to look out for _each other._" Caroline took the plate from her, and set it down on the floor. Straightening, she then sandwiched Bonnie's hands between her own. "We're going to find a way out of this, I promise you."

"Such _optimism!" _Called a voice – a voice wry with mockery and contempt. Its owner descended the stairs into the hold and proceeded to clap slowly.

She'd only met him once, but the sound of her captor's voice was as familiar to her and engrained as that of a more familiar acquaintance.

"I commend you," the man continued, chuckling; no longer swathed by light, they could see him in his imposing entirety.

"What do you want?" Caroline venomously spat, teeth gritted.

"The watchman at your door alerted me that you were awake," he responded, gesturing to her – smirk plastered to her face. "I merely wanted to make sure that my cargo was in good health. _And_, to advise her against any fantasies of escaping." His eyes darkened – and his voice lowered. "Should she liberate herself from this brig."

"And what makes you think I would know how to do that?" She contested. "I'm a Lady, not a locksmith; something you'd do well to remember, in confining my maid and I to a common criminal's cell."

Eyes sparking in interest, he clasped his hands behind his back, and slowing stepped up to the wrought-iron that separated them. "_You _wouldn't – but _she _would." His eyes rested on Bonnie, before they darted back and coldly held Caroline's. "I have not forgotten your position, milady; it is, after all, what has gotten you into this predicament – and it's why you will stay _exactly _where you are." The smirk momentarily returned. "A final reminder; try anything, and you lose your inmate. Are we understood?"

Chin high, Caroline fought every frightened cell in her body as she tried to level his gaze with strength and hatred. "_Rot in hell_."

Though the curl in his lips remained, his eyes betrayed amusement. "That's the spirit." Turning, he ascended the steps.

The moment he had, Caroline registered a sting in her hands; she'd been clenching into fists so tightly she'd broken the skin. Mouth tasting bitter with hatred, body breaking into tremors, she lifted the back of a trembling hand to her forehead, and forced herself to let out a long exhale.

There had been the briefest of moments the day before, when she'd thought she'd glimpsed a man she _could_ _perhaps _understand.

But she had been utterly mistaken.

Her captor was nothing but a monster.

A strange, stinging sensation flew through her veins – making her blood hotter, making her see red: Caroline identified it. Pure _hatred_. Abhorrence. And she realised, with startling clarity, what it made her _want _to do.

What she was _willing_ to and _would _do, to get off this ship.

To free her friend, and herself.

She was going to kill him.


End file.
